


Kindship with a Cup

by Delouest



Series: Sigh No More - Malika Cadash [5]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Orlesians, Pre-Revelations, Tea Party, carving block writers collective, i don't know why I insist on writing that the orlesians have terrible cakes but I do
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-09
Updated: 2017-07-09
Packaged: 2018-11-30 01:14:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11452929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Delouest/pseuds/Delouest
Summary: "Malika fidgeted. It was all she’d been doing since the meeting started. Though it wasn’t even a meeting. A meeting she could handle, or at least she could shove Josephine in front of her to do all the talking.This was torture.This was cruel.This was punishment for crimes committed before she became the Inquisitor.This was a tea party."~*~Malika Cadash must impress the visiting Orlesian dignitaries, but the formalities and multiple forks might prove to be too much.





	Kindship with a Cup

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Carving Block Writers Collective prompt "A tea party"

Malika fidgeted. It was all she’d been doing since the meeting started. Though it wasn’t even a meeting. A meeting she could handle, or at least she could shove Josephine in front of her to do all the talking. 

This was torture. 

This was cruel. 

This was punishment for crimes committed before she became the Inquisitor. 

This was a  _ tea party. _

Fine porcelain cups edged in gold lined the length of the Great Hall’s sturdy wooden table. They looked out of place on the wooden slabs which usually featured tankards of ale, hearty stews in clay bowls, and once - after a particularly entertaining night of drinking - a passed out Iron Bull and Krem. Malika eyed the cups edged in gold and tugged at her formal uniform with its brass buttons, red velvet and gold embroidery. Was it possible to feel kinship with a cup? It was as out of place as herself. She ran her fingers along the edge to calm her nerves. 

Women in large-skirted dresses and men in stiff suits sat in alternating seats down the length of the table. Malika sat at the head, grateful that as a dwarf she was already harder to see due to her size compared with the mostly human crowd that was visiting from Orlais. That did not stop her from attempting to shrink away to nothing in her seat. 

Josephine sat at her right side, sipping daintily and silently from her own cup while nudging Malika under the table with her foot as if to say, “Sit up straighter, Inquisitor.” How did she do that? How did she manage to say so little with only a sidelong glance and a nudge? 

Not one to disappoint Josephine, Malika squared her shoulders and unclenched her jaw. These visitors were here to give them money, provided they were impressed with their operations. It seemed strange to Malika that to prove to supporters that they were worthy of their financial support that they show off their hosting skills, rather than demonstrate their army. She would have much rather shown that she could plant an arrow in between the eyes of a bandit from the length of a battlefield. Or better yet, she could leave the army tour to Cullen and Cassandra. 

But no. Malika had to show that she knew which fork to use to eat the tiny cakes in front of her, and there were  _ so  _ many. In a moment of panic when she wondered if she was supposed to be using a spoon instead. 

Josephine was still sipping at her tea, her cake untouched. Were they not supposed to eat the cakes? Glancing to her left, she searched for the comforting sight of Blackwall. She’d bribed Josephine to seat him next to her instead of the diplomat who always had a fleck of spittle escaping his mouth when he pronounced a “th.” With all the thank yous being thrown left and right, Malika had been finding it difficult not to flinch when she found herself on the receiving end of an over enthusiastic spray of politeness. 

And there he was next to her. Malika had expected Blackwall to be as fidgety as her, tugging at his tunic, twisting his cloth napkin. At the very least she expected him to have a smear of cream stuck to his mustache from the frilly cakes. But he wasn’t, and he didn’t (so much for icing kisses later, she thought absently). He looked perfectly content, nodding politely at something the woman to his left said as she waved her bejeweled gloved hand while recounting a story. His hair was parted neatly, if shaggy, and the collar of his uniform was nicely pressed. It wasn’t surprising to see him keeping up with the Orlesian noble folk, she knew of course that he’d been stationed with them while with the Wardens, but it cut a stark contrast to the rough-edged man who spent so much time in the stables with her. 

Still, it was a fine sight, Blackwall in his finery, large hands cupping a delicate cup. Malika grinned at a thought and nudged him under the table to get his attention. 

He made his excuses to the masked woman and turned to face Malika. He smiled warmly. “Yes, my lady?” 

“You know, my rooms are right upstairs,” Malika whispered. “We could easily slip away.” to cover her grin, she passed what looked to her like a gravy boat of cream his way. Why these people were putting cream in their tea she would never understand, as she hadn’t had milk since she cut her first tooth. She liked hers strong and black, if she drank it at all.

“Enticing as that sounds,” Blackwall started, looking her up and down slowly, “I think they might miss their host. You’re sitting in a somewhat conspicuous place.”

Malika swore and heard Josephine clear her throat to her right. Looking over, she was rewarded with a glare and pursed lips. 

“Inquisitor, you are aware that if the gentleman to one side of you can hear you, the lady to the other can as well, yes?” 

“I. Er, of course. It was a joke. I wouldn’t dream of leaving you alone with our guests.”

Josephine was not one to hold a grudge. She smiled lightly, nudged the smallest fork towards Malika’s hand and winked. “You should try the truffle cake. It’s delicious. Madame Sabine brought it for us.” 

“I bet she kept it in her skirts,” Malika whispered to Blackwall. “There’s plenty of room under there.” 

“She wouldn’t dream of taking it with her on her travels,” Blackwall whispered back, avoiding the look of disapproval from Josephine. “It would get stale and possibly attract insects.” 

“Hush you two.” 

“Sorry Josie,” Malika said. “We’ll be good.” She took the tiny fork that had been indicated to her and sliced a sliver off her cake. She took a bite, chewed, and did her best not to make a face. 

“Um,” Malika said through her mouthful, “what exactly did you say this was?”

“Truffle cake. It’s an Orlesian delicacy,” Josephine said, taking a bite of her own. Malika was impressed by how straight she kept her face as she chewed. After taking a large mouthful of tea to get it down, Malika swallowed thickly. 

“Aren’t truffles in dessert supposed to be chocolate? This tastes more like…” 

“Mushrooms? Quite,” Josephine said. “As I said. It’s a delicacy.” 

Delicacy or not, Malika had no intentions of putting the earthy-tasting cake anywhere near her mouth again. She placed the fork back on the table, but moved it to rest on the saucer when Blackwall coughed slightly and pointed to his own fork on his plate. 

“So the part that was in your mouth doesn’t touch the table,” he said in a low voice. 

“Right,” said Malika, leaning in. “Because it’s not as if Sera and I didn’t celebrate a battle victory by dancing on these very tables with boots covered in dragon blood last week or anything.”  

Blackwall laughed, but then turned serious. “Wait. Where did they hide Sera today? I’m sure she wouldn’t have wanted to miss this. Rich folk parading about to show off their money. A chance to put salt in the sugar pot. Seems like something she’d be interested in.” 

Malika giggled. “Josephine didn’t want to risk scaring off the donations. She made it clear that she was to stay out of sight for the remainder of the diplomats’ visit. I think she brought in some special equipment for her and Dagna to experiment with in the underforge to bribe them and keep them busy.” 

Blackwall frowned. “The underforge that’s right below the Great Hall?” 

“I don’t know of another underforge in Skyhold, though I admit I’m always turning a corner to find new places I hadn’t seen before. Did you know we have a whole room filled with nothing but coin? I wondered where Josie was keeping it all, but I could have buried myself in all of it, can you even believe it?” 

Blackwall didn’t seem impressed with the news of the vault. “I don’t think that was the best idea Josephine has ever had.” 

“Excuse me,” Josephine cut in. “I would remind you that I can still hear you two. You’re not being very sneaky. And just why was my idea not a good one? Sera would only get underfoot and cause mayhem and you know it. So I gave her something else to do today. I can hardly see what the problem would-” 

The ground shook beneath them, porcelain cups rattled in their saucers, cream pots spilled over. The crowd at the table gripped the edges of their seats and looked around, the sections of their faces that were showing from beneath their masks showed panick. 

“An earthquake?” one man cried out. 

“A dragon?” 

“Corypheus!” 

“Sera!” they all heard shouted from the door that lead to the underforge. 

The heavy door burst open and something black and smouldering came rushing out. Malika jumped to her feet and pulled the dagger she kept in her belt out, ready for a fight. 

“Put me out! Put me out!” the smoking figure said. 

“Put her out! Put her out!” Dagna said as she appeared at the top of the steps, out of breath and chasing after. 

Not missing a beat, Malika snatched the saucer of milk near her and sloshed the liquid in it to douse the flames. 

After the smoke had cleared and the person had wiped the dripping, ashy milk from their eyes, Malika could see her. “Sera?” 

Sera blinked more milk from her eyes, the rest of her face black, her hair soggy and singed. “None other! Nothin’ to worry about. Just a little burnt.” Her voice was loud, as if shouting over the boom that no longer rang through the halls. 

Dagna was one step behind, somewhat singed herself. “We didn’t mean to interrupt. Just a mishap with the rune maker.” 

“Did you know that you can’t enchant a rune that’s already enchanted? Well now we know! That’s good information innit?” She grinned, her white teeth bright against her charred face. 

“Come on, Sera, let’s make sure the rest of the fire’s out.” Dagna steered her away, Sera a little clumsy on her feet.

“Hey just think,” they heard Sera say as they disappeared down the staircase. “Won’t need to trim my fringe for a while, yeah?” Laughter echoed down the chamber as the door closed behind them. 

Once they were gone, Malika turned to face the party, knowing she was in trouble. The Inquisitor took responsibility for her people. She took a deep breath before looking up. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sure you all weren’t expecting this interruption today, I’ll make sure-” but she stopped. 

All of the guests were stifling laughter behind their gloved hands. 

“Quite entertaining,” Madame Sabine said. “I had no idea there would be a show. I was wondering when this party would pick up.” 

Josephine took no time before smiling. “Yes of course. We’re glad you were entertained.” She clapped absently. “Now, I believe we have some business to discuss before we finish up the meeting.” 

Malika took her seat again, sheathing her dagger and scooping her cake into one of the cloth napkins before anyone looked at her. 

Blackwall didn’t miss a beat and tapped her knee under the table. “I bet we could make an excuse that you need to wash your hands after spilling that milk,” he said. 

Malika’s eyes went wide in gratitude. “You know, you’re smarter than you look.” 

“There’s a compliment in there somewhere, I’m sure of it,” he said as he took her sticky hand and helped her out of her seat. Together they snuck through the door that lead to her chambers, hand in sticky hand. 


End file.
